


Danse Macabre

by grossferatu



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, But not exactly, Canon Divergence, Dark John, Dark John Watson, Dark Sherlock Holmes, F/M, John Watson knew, Kind of a Magnus Archives crossover, M/M, Multi, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:40:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22798708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grossferatu/pseuds/grossferatu
Summary: John Watson and Sherlock Holmes do love their game with James Moriarty. How can they not, when he gives them such lovely things to do (or break).Molly is just there because she likes watching people die.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. up

**Author's Note:**

> Going with short chapters, which means they may come at you faster! Dipping my toes back into the Sherlock pool after a long absence. Eurus Holmes does exist, she's just not here yet!
> 
> Except all sorts of fun messed up things to come, they're just not tagged yet.

Sherlock sits up on the autopsy table, enjoying the cool metal under his back. It’s important to allow himself small pleasures, like feeling the remains of his body heat leave his flesh.

Molly is crouched on a desk, her gaze fixed pointedly on Sherlock’s form. She’s enjoying seeing him nude and not even bothering to hide it.

“Welcome back,” she says, sounding almost disappointed. “You took quite a fall.”

Sherlock stretches. “Where is John?” he asks, a small amount of concern bleeding into his voice. He’s not worried about John’s reaction—he will be perfect, as always—but about him getting distracted, or waylaid. What if he goes hungry?

“Waiting for you at the flat,” Molly says. Her expression hasn’t changed. “I thought I would get to see you die just a little bit.”

Sherlock laughs. “Sorry, little death,” he manages with complete sincerity. He looks down at himself, poking at an eye that has just opened under his thigh until it winks back out.

Molly licks her lips. “I’ve decided what my price is for helping you,” she says. Her expression changes, finally, to one of pure anticipation. “I will ask you for that payment in due time.”

Sherlock puts on bright, clashing clothes and slouches, his hair growing long as he pushes open the door to leave the basement. No one will recognize him, no one who matters.

Molly watches him leave. He hasn’t answered her, but he doesn’t have to. She knows he’ll do what she wants.


	2. Chapter 2

John is waiting for Sherlock on the couch, almost vibrating with nervous tension.

“It’s time to play,” he says. “Hunt down the snipers in two days and we get an evening with Sebastien.”

“And if we lose?”

John smiles. “They get an evening with me.”

Sherlock answers his smile. “Perfect,” he says. He wins, either way; he likes watching John, no matter where he is, or what is happening to him.

The tunnel is broad, twisting on itself in ways that would be difficult to navigate if Sherlock was not forcing it to stay in a coherent shape for as long as he and John are traveling it. They are following a scent, metaphorically speaking, and it is growing stronger.

A cigarette butt left on a roof top fire escape; the impression of a footprint in a little bit of mud. Barely clues at all, but Sherlock is long past the point of needing true deduction except as a game with himself. It’s dull, really, one of his gods feeding him the information as soon as he asks for it, often sooner.

It is time for him to feed his other god, John’s most beloved god, the Hunter.

John is barely fighting back a grin, anachronistic doctor’s black bag held tightly in his hands.

“I didn’t do anything to anyone,” he whispers. “All that lovely fear when you died, and I didn’t taste a single drop.”

He’s not doing this for Sherlock. He’s doing it for himself, so this hunt tastes sweeter.


End file.
